


Moonlight and Memories

by Toshi_Nama



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, In a Morrigan way, Kissing, Lyrium Withdrawal, Moonlight, Nightmares, kind of, we're all adults here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28382043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toshi_Nama/pseuds/Toshi_Nama
Summary: Nightmares are a common thing, and all of Skyhold knows to pretend they don't notice their Commander walking them out of his system.Well, all but one.Then again, what else should you expect from Morrigan?
Relationships: Morrigan/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	Moonlight and Memories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CoryFireLion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoryFireLion/gifts).



Cullen sighed as he walked the battlements. The camp far beyond looked ordered, the torches already alight against the coming darkness. The torch of the Inquisition had already retired, claiming weariness: she was the light for all of them, against a much worse darkness. He shook his head even as the Chant filled it to block out his own depression.

Another night where he’d woken himself biting back a scream. Another night where all he had for comfort was the howls of his brethren as they died, the burning need for lyrium filling his breath.

He sighed more heavily. All that meant another night that he would spend pacing Skyhold’s perimeter, looking for the freedom his memories refused to give them. He tried to console himself that it just gave him more time to focus on the now, but he’d never been good at lies. Instead, he pressed against the bridge of his nose, begging his headache to ease. His body was no more gentle to him tonight than his nightmares, the veins throbbing as his skull tightened.

A flash shone in the courtyard at the edge of his vision. Odd.

It shone again, which made him believe it might be real. On bad nights, he still got flashes of what had been, spectres at the edge of his vision. On worse nights, he saw  _ her  _ as the demon made her, whispering evil into his thoughts. Cullen made his way down the next set of stairs he found, feeling the cold stone through the soles of his boots. 

Within this courtyard, there was no scent of oil and metal, no ale, no shouts of triumph or victory. This was the one the Inquisitor had reserved for meditation, he realized suddenly. It fixed him in place again, and he grasped for the certainty he had under the sun. It was easier to believe, when he could let the sun brighten his personal shadows. Once again, he fought to fix himself in the present. He had seen something here.

Somehow, everything beyond faded here and was replaced by an environment of contemplation. Herbs scented the air and crept from beds along careful trellises, joined by incense and fireflies. Cullen took one breath, then another. This was a place he came to often, for just this sort of balm. But this time he had not come for the peace of the little Chantry they had sanctified in one of the alcoves. Had someone else the same needs as he?

“Hello?” His voice didn’t breach the silence so much as slide beneath it. “Is something the matter?”

A cool voice answered him. “There is nothing the matter. Tis merely I, I do not keep the hours of your soldiers.”

Anywhere but in this garden, he would look for an edge beneath those words. The careful tones and unusual accent were as unmistakable as the husky purr of Morrigan’s voice, and the sharpness of her tongue was as much a part of her as the sharpness of her gaze, or her jawline. Tonight was different. He was in no position to seek insult, nor would he do so  _ here,  _ in his sanctuary.

“How likely...no, nevermind.” Cullen bit his own tongue before he could bring up his own worries again. There was time enough for them during the councils. “Your son?”

“He is abed. Should you not be as well, Commander?”

He stepped closer to the voice, and she resolved from the shadows and mist. Unlike during the day, she had changed from her deceptively rough clothing into a simple tied robe. Even her hair spilled around her shoulders, loose and wild.

During the day, she was a handsome woman. At night, like this? She was something more entirely. “I could say the same to you,” he replied, trying to ignore the way the moonlight lined her pale skin. Even through his pain, he could recite the reasons he should not notice the way her shoulders glowed under the moonlight. She was an apostate, and the Court Enchanter of Orlais. He reminded himself of those facts.

“Do you seek to put me to bed, then, like an errant child?” She turned, half of her lips climbing in a smile. “Or are you seeking companionship?”

He shuddered as her face reminded him of his past. The need for lyrium ate through him, burning his veins. His hand sought his neck, trying to work out the knots that ate into his skull. Why did this moment, a half-lit face...

“You were there.”

Her smile vanished as she looked at him more closely. Somber, she nodded.

“Aye, I was.”

“You...you wanted…”

A slight movement of Morrigan’s head helped him choke off the rest of his words. She’d seen him at his worst, she knew the demons he fought every time he closed his eyes. He closed his eyes, tired. She had, but she hadn’t seen the worst he’d done. His eyes opened again as she spoke, catching not amusement, but something more complicated glinting in her golden eyes.

“I am no demon, and I do not seek to tempt you. Twas an offer, nothing more.”

Shaking visions of Kinloch from his mind, he almost missed the last. “A  _ what?” _

“Do not look at me like that! You are a handsome man, surely you are aware of this?” Her voice had picked up its edge, but as quickly as her words came out, there wasn’t the heat - or ice - of true anger. “You cannot be completely blind.”

“I’m not, no.” Wait, what was he  _ doing?  _ Was he truly discussing his appeal with...with…if anything, this assured him it was no demon or nightmare lying in wait for him. It was too unpredictable a response. He chuckled, finding his feet. “You have a unique way of assuring me you are no demon.”

Her smile returned. “Should I thank you for the compliment? No, I am no demon.”

The shadows kept creeping closer; he needed light. She glowed, but there was no magic, merely smooth skin and the moon. The woman in front of him was almost distressingly real, despite the wildness that clung to everything from her gait to the tips of her eyelashes. 

He took a step, stopping when her hand pressed lightly on his chest. “Yet you are enchanting,” he breathed. She was, and it was tonight, when she hadn’t been anything but herself, that he truly appreciated it. She was more without the artifice and deliberate sensuality she adorned herself with when she meant to be seen. Like this, she was breathtaking.

Her lips were as cool as the moonlight lining her skin. The burning in his veins eased as she molded herself to his body and purred deep in her throat. She was no cure for what ailed him, but that was a balm in itself. Morrigan would not offer to heal someone, but a moment of pleasure?

Tonight, he would use that unexpected gift as a shield.

Then she kissed him back, her hair satin against his fingers, and he let all thoughts of his nightmares slip away. No, tonight he wouldn’t think of shields and battle, nightmares and pain. Tonight, he’d let himself have something more.


End file.
